Four Times Charlie Pace was Loved
by pacejunkie
Summary: Four Times Charlie Pace was Loved for the Wrong Reasons and One Time he Wasn't . Charlie's known many kinds of love but there was only one that really mattered. Contains sex and drug references.


**Title:** Four Times Charlie Pace was Loved for the Wrong Reasons (and One Time he Wasn't)

**Rating:** R/M for sex, drug references

**Summary:** Charlie's known many kinds of love but there was only one that really mattered.

**Word Count:** 2,696

**A/N:** OMG my first R rated fic. : O I don't know what happened, it started at PG-13 but then my muse just took a raunchy turn and wouldn't let up. See what it does to me when Charlie gets loved up?

**Disclaimer:** Now that Lost is done with Charlie, I was wondering if I could have him. I'm still waiting for their response. Oh, and _Finding Nemo_ belongs to Pixar and Disney.

I

At twelve, Charlie was already a performer. After five years of intense piano study, his mum began to bring the neighbours round every few months or so to hear her gifted son play. She would sit on the side in their drawing room wearing her best dress, beaming and flush with pride, watching the reactions of friends and rivals alike as they were entertained.

Charlie's brother Liam typically sulked in a corner waiting for his turn when he would be allowed to sing along to one song. The ladies tolerated his caterwauling but the show was Charlie's and they all knew it. After a recital Charlie would often return to his room to find Liam had maliciously broken something just for spite.

Meghan Pace had wanted to send her younger son to a music academy for school but they couldn't afford it, and his father thought it was a useless pursuit anyway. So Charlie continued with his after school lessons with Mrs. Pryne, the elderly widow down the street. He practiced for two hours each day and gave private performances at his mother's whim.

One day, after a particularly inspired selection of Mozart, Charlie sat at the piano bench, fingering the keys, the smooth texture of the plastic that pretended to be ivory, until the company had all cleared out. When they had gone, his mum rushed over and sat alongside him, fit to burst.

"Oh, I love you, Charlie! That was fantastic," she exclaimed, throwing an arm around his shoulder and squeezing a bit too tight. "Did you see the look on Mrs. MacGovern's face? She was actually impressed and nothing impresses her. Let that be the last time she goes on about her brilliant son at Oxford at the next dinner party."

"Mum?" Charlie said, his eyes still on the keys, stroking them.

"What love?" she asked.

"Would you still love me even if I didn't play music?"

His mother look confused for a moment, "Now, what kind of question is that? You _do_ play music and you play beautifully. "

"I know, but…," he muttered, and then shrugged, "never mind then."

"You're not thinking of giving it up are you?" she asked.

Charlie glanced up quickly at the sudden change in her tone from sweet to sharp, and noticed the look of apprehension on her face.

"No," he said quickly, "of course not."

She relaxed, allowing the smile to return to her face. With another quick squeeze she reached up and mussed his hair.

"I think too much classical makes you brood," she decided. "Next time we'll play jazz. How does that sound?"

"Sure," he said, plastering on a smile. "Whatever you want."

"That's my Charlie," she said.

II

Charlie knew his brother didn't mean it when he told him to piss off. Liam had been high, and he always got that way from the drugs. Charlie knew he would calm down, come back and apologize. He always did.

It was two o'clock in the morning and Charlie was alone in his hotel room, winding down from the show, the television on with the sound turned off. He was still contemplating their argument along with the small packet of heroin that he had swiped from the backstage table after his brother's dressing down. He held up the baggie of brown powder, wondering what the fuss was about.

He nearly dropped it when he heard a sharp rapping at the door. Shoving the drugs in his pocket Charlie froze and decided to wait before answering it, his heart thumping as if he were a teenager that had been caught doing something wrong in his bedroom.

"Charlie, are you in there?" Liam called.

He sighed, rose and went to the door, opening it.

"What is it Liam?"

"Can I talk to you?" his brother said softly, slouching against the frame.

Charlie backed up wordlessly and allowed him to enter. Liam crossed the room to the bed and sat on the edge. Charlie took the chair opposite. Dropping his head and running his fingers through his hair, Liam took a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You know I didn't mean it right?"

Here it was, and yet it was different somehow. Usually the apologies were small and hurried, trifles thrown to appease, forget and move on, but this time Liam actually seemed bothered by their row. Maybe it was because this time Charlie had threatened to quit the band. Liam had told him he'd be useless without Driveshaft, but something may have told him that he hadn't been entirely convincing. When his brother walked in he looked around the room, as if expecting to see Charlie packing his bags already, leaving him in the dust. If Charlie didn't know any better, he'd say Liam looked slightly panicked.

"I know you didn't mean it Li," Charlie began, "but I did. I'm quitting the band."

"Just, wait," Liam said. "Before you decide, would you at least hear me out first?"

Charlie nodded and waited for his brother to make his plea.

"This isn't your decision to make," Liam began, "and when I say that I mean we're a team. We always have been. Where you go I go and if you left…" he stopped, searching for the words. "Look, we both know you've always been the talented one…"

"Liam…," Charlie said, prepared to protest.

"No, just hear me out, you promised," he said. "You'll be all right. You can always write songs or do session work. You can give lessons, whatever. But this is all I've got and I've got it because of you."

Charlie looked up at Liam, studying his face for some sign of ulterior motive, but beyond his glassy bloodshot eyes all he saw was intensity and a hint of fear. He knew this had to be a difficult admission on Liam's part. They had once promised to look out for each other, but the bottom line was Liam needed him, it was true. Without Charlie's songs the band would cease to exist.

_The music business was the only respectable place left to be a junkie,_ Charlie thought bitterly.

Liam reached out and put a cold, shaky hand on his brother's shoulder. "I love you, baby brother. What you've done for me is more than I could ever ask for and I've got no right to ask this now but _please_, don't take it away."

Liam may have resented his reputation as the family screw up but in some ways he was lucky. Their parents never expected much from him but that also meant he never had to be the one everyone always counted on. It wasn't easy having to be perfect all the time, and while his brother was busy hating him in their youth Charlie often just wanted the freedom to be irresponsible.

After Liam left Charlie fished the heroin out of his pocket. He lay down on the bed, turning it round and round in his fingers, wondering what it would feel like to behave badly.

III

There was never a show when at least two groupies didn't want to bed him afterwards. Liam once joked that it was as though their music was an aphrodisiac and they seduced the birds like a couple of snake charmers. Usually Charlie picked one; when he was feeling particularly naughty he invited both, and they almost always said yes. Once he saw how pleased Liam was with his new hedonistic brother, Charlie relaxed into his new lifestyle and let go completely.

The one he was with now was called Dora… or Doreen, or something similar. It didn't matter because after tomorrow he'd never see her again. He never asked the girl about herself, that just wasn't the way things were done, and the birds always seemed to know too much about him already, even if it was mostly the rubbish you read in magazines. There was no need for conversation, this was about need itself.

She had been all over him backstage with fingers creeping up his leathers towards his crotch and a tongue tracing a route from his neck to his ear. That was when she told him her name and it was no wonder he'd never remember it. He decided on the spot that she would be the only one that night. Charlie wanted this one all to himself.

She was as good as advertised. They barely made it in the room before she was tearing his clothes off, insulting him with furious hands, muttering with a talented mouth about how Driveshaft was the best bloody band in the world and their bassist was the sexiest beast she'd ever seen. Charlie's ego took it all greedily, giving back between the sheets, as her platitudes were soon replaced by moans, artifacts from a forgotten language.

A musician's sensitive fingers brought her to a fever pitch and she cried out as she careened over, tumbling down the other side, gripping his back so stiffly Charlie thought she had died in the throes and was struck with rigor mortis.

Then she relaxed, sighed and whispered against his open lips, drunk with passion, "I love you, Charlie Pace."

Five minutes later she was asleep. Charlie lay frowning at the very edge of the bed, wide awake, listening for her soft, even breathing. Then he got up and poured himself a large tumbler of gin.

He drank it as he sat out on his balcony, watching the sun rise, studying the vibrant roses and golds, looking for some sign of order to the world.

IV

It was Charlie's lucky day. His royalty check arrived on a Friday, ensuring that he'd have ready cash when it mattered. Had it arrived on a Monday or Tuesday it would end up spent on the more mundane necessities of life – food, laundry, rent – and there'd be none left by the weekend. But when it came on Friday… that meant there was going to be a party. He could always find one when he had money.

Since Liam left for Australia, Charlie had been living off of residuals and his daily take from busking on the streets with his guitar, having lost his piano and main means of a livelihood thanks to his poor excuse for a brother. He still had just enough leftover fame to draw attention, though everyone knows how appetizing leftovers are. His life began to revolve around his heroin, the one constant in his variable universe.

There was a comfortable routine to his social life, particularly when he had a few quid. He'd score some grams and hit the pub, attach himself to a few familiar faces and seek out the ones with the same needy look that he had. He knew who used and who didn't, and getting together was always a kind of game that you played with your eyes and your body, reading the signs, waiting for an invitation. After a few beers the gathering would break up and smaller groups would pretend to disperse. Some actually would, others would just move on. On this particular evening, Charlie, the drugs heavy in his pocket, followed the crowd to the next meeting place, someone's shabby flat.

There was usually music and an atmosphere of general torpor. People crashed on the couches and threw themselves on the floor. If there was any food at all it was ignored. Sometimes a joint or some cigs would be passed freely, filling the room with toxic smoke. Then the ones that carried broke out the heroin and away they'd go.

There'd be dealing first, some cash would change hands and other promises exchanged. There was always a spare room set aside for sexual favours. Once the arrangements had all been worked out everyone set about the business of getting high, that being the only reason they were there in the first place.

Like a mail order company, Charlie accepted all forms of payment, but there were some he preferred more than others. When he saw the girl with the feline green eyes and the dark hair, he hoped to God that she had no money.

His prayers were answered and before he knew it the back room was theirs, Miss Nameless on her knees and Charlie with his eyes to the merciful heavens and his zipper pointed straight to hell. After a minute of little more than teasing she looked up at him.

"Show them to me," she begged in a husky voice.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the baggie, dangling the heroin in front of her like a doggie treat and sporting a wicked grin that he wouldn't even recognize if he looked in the mirror. He didn't know this Charlie anymore.

"Do you love me?" he asked her.

Her eyes seemed to glow with backlighting, fueled by desire. She stared at the heroin with her mouth hanging open, entranced.

"I love you," she said.

"Show me."

And she did.

V

It was the sixth time for _Finding Nemo_. Charlie was thoroughly sick of it but as it was Aaron's favourite movie he couldn't say no. Plus, he secretly liked it when the shark startled the boy and the little five-year old buried his head in Charlie's side.

"Is it gone?" he'd ask, his voice muffled by Charlie's sweatshirt.

"Not yet," he'd say. "Wait for it… aaaaaand….now."

And his little blonde head would pop back up with a sigh of relief. Charlie thought it was adorable.

Aaron also liked to talk during the movie. It was their together time. They'd sit side by side on their couch and the child would go on about whatever came into his mind, the way only kindergartners can.

"Maddy Richards likes me," he'd say, munching his popcorn.

"Who's Maddy Richards?" Charlie asked.

"The new girl in my class," said Aaron. "Everyone says she does because she gives me erasers."

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think she's gross."

Charlie laughed. "Did the teacher give you a better job this week?"

"Yeah, I get to be line leader," he said with excitement. "That's the job everyone wants. I get to stand in the front and lead everyone to the lunchroom and back."

"Good for you," said Charlie.

Aaron's attention turned back to the movie and he began to point at the screen and chuckle, repeating his favourite lines.

"Bubbles! Bubbles! Shark bait!"

"Look Aaron, there's Sydney," he noted like he did every time the animated opera house appeared on the screen. Then he would often tease, "I think I see your school" or "there's our house," but Aaron had figured out by now that he was joking.

He leaned in towards Charlie and yawned.

"I wouldn't want to live in a fish tank," said Aaron.

"Why not?"

"If I were a fish, I'd want to be free," he said sagely.

"That's true," Charlie said. "Then we'd always be able to see each other too. It'd be harder to visit my little Aaron fish if he were trapped in someone's tank. I'd be sad like Nemo's dad."

They laughed together during the dentist scene and again at the sea turtles. The island seemed so long ago now that Charlie felt an odd nostalgic pull at the sight of an ocean, even though he never wanted to visit the beach for a holiday and Aaron had a hard time understanding why.

The boy was curled up tight against him now, a warm soft bundle, fighting to stay awake. The movie would end soon, Nemo would be reunited with his father and Charlie would carry Aaron up to bed and kiss him goodnight like always. He had been quiet for a while now, and Charlie wondered whether he would make it to the end. He was about to reach over and turn the disc off when from nowhere Aaron spoke again in a sleepy voice.

"I love you Daddy."

Charlie smiled and looked down at the child that was his whole world. Stroking his golden hair, he marveled at the place where for the first time in his life, he felt love.

"I love you too, Turnip."


End file.
